


Forty Percent (proof)

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Series: But I Meant Forever [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:43:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>We're playing hide and seek</i>.<br/>Sequel of sorts to <b>it means how it sounds</b>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty Percent (proof)

**Author's Note:**

> **disclaimer** obvious fiction is obvious  
>  big love to **fr333bird** and the sausage to my bacon, **wordgasmic** for their eyes and edits xo

**forty percent (proof)**

****  
It was weird waking up alone. Especially when you weren’t used to it. It was worse when Harry forgot. Just reached out his hand as he always did - more of an unconscious thing really - to feel out for that familiar shape, to pull himself in and breathe and just be, and then. . . nothing. Just cool sheets under his touch. No sleep warmed body. No familiar scent of boy and expensive shampoo and citrus - because Louis was _always_ citrus. He was tangy and tart on the tongue but could be sweet like lemonade or those sherbert lollies he was so fond of.

Harry’s fingers would reach and reach, his arm stretching out fingertips on the move in case maybe, maybe right at the edge? Then nothing. Instead of sighing and pressing his lips to skin that he’d tasted thousands of times, his eyes would open searching for what was lost. They’d close just as fast, he’d roll onto his side and curl into himself, willing sleep to return so at least he could get lost in dreams where beds were _never_ empty. Where _she_ didn’t exist and _they_ could without question.

And it hurt. It hurt more with every passing day, and not Niall and his offers to hang out with Josh, or Liam and Andy practically begging him to come to Universal Studios, or even Zayn calling from the UK could ease the ache in his chest. He just wanted. Wanted things to go back to normal. Wanted that time in New Zealand, wanted the yacht in Sydney - fuck, wanted their flat in London. He wanted the quiet and the loud and he wanted blue, blue eyes and fingertips perfecting an already perfect fringe. He wanted easy smiles and witty comebacks. He wanted his name shouted across small distances and whispered, broken and half formed over his skin. He wanted sugary breath on his cheek, he wanted teeth dragging over his shoulder blade. He wanted more than just eyes tracking his every move. He wanted to touch and be touched, and to kiss and kiss and kiss just because they could.

But Harry was alone. Alone in his bed and alone in this room and alone, so alone. He stretched his arm up and under his pillow, scrunching the material under his head. He winced as the newly inked skin, still tender to direct touch brushed up against the rougher than normal cotton. The sheets here were complete shit compared to the ones that _he_ insisted on at home. A home that wasn’t to be theirs much longer. He in his five bedroom house and Harry in a flat that Gemma said was liveable. It was supposed to be a step forward. The five of them moving out of the complex and back into the world that wasn’t protected by high fences and security that bordered on ridiculous.

So why then did it feel like they were going in reverse?

Harry didn’t bother looking at the clock to see if he should get up. What was the point? It would just be another day where the paps followed _them_ around and he would have to fake indifference, happiness even as Harry went through the motions. So he dug down under the blankets - even though the air conditioning sucked here and the heat was oppressive, and hoped he’d just sweat out all the twisted anger inside of him.

: : :

It didn’t help.

He only woke up feeling exactly the same later -- minutes, hours - was it tomorrow yet? His phone filled with encouragement and care from those that tried to understand and nothing else. Nothing. Not that Harry expected it, but he looked for it all the same. But _she_ was with him and that meant Harry couldn’t be. Wouldn’t be because of all the stupid reasons that Harry kept agreeing to because Louis asked.

And it wasn’t like he could deny Louis anything was it?

He reached under the bed to where he dropped the bottle of vodka he’d had Jon get for him the night before. It was half empty and would be completely dry before another dawn rose if Harry had his way. He just didn’t want to _feel_ any more.

: : :

“Hey, hey, hello?” Harry could hear the drowsiness in Louis voice. Hear the slight difference in his tone that meant Louis had been sleeping on his back - mouth open, tongue dry and nose slightly blocked. He never slept on his back when he was with Harry. Harry’s chest was Louis’ pillow. The thought alone that Louis was someone else’s head rest made the vodka churn in his stomach and Harry’s eyes prickle with the usual tears that happened around now.

There was silence on the line. Silence followed by a short sigh and Harry could imagine Louis closing his eyes, how a line would form between his brows - Louis pinching it tight if he had a free hand. But he wouldn’t, because _she_ would be lying on it or it would be wrapped around _her_. It wasn’t fair. It was never going to be fair and Harry choked on a sob. He tugged at the round collar of a shirt that was too tight for his body, but he’d squeezed himself into all the same. He always kept some of Louis’ clothes when _she_ happened to join them but this time there had been little warning.

Just Harry and his stupid misguided idea getting that tattoo and then she was there. Again. And Louis was leaving him. Again. And it hurt more than it should because Louis asked him, begged him to say he was alright with everything. That they were fine. That it was fine. That it wasn’t for much longer.

Then Niall told him about the five bedroom house and Lou was fixing Harry’s hair and _she_ came in and they discussed good interior decorators and Harry had to leave the room. It wasn’t ‘fine.’ It wasn’t ‘for too much longer.’ It wasn’t fair and it was never going to happen and Harry’s heart stuttered and shuddered and stopped. It hadn’t beat again since. Well, not properly. Not the way it did when he was with Louis and Louis was his and his alone.

“Come over, please,” he managed to spit out and the words felt like more than begging on his tongue, they tasted foreign and he hated himself as soon as they left his mouth.

“Haz,” and Louis sighed his name in a way Harry never, ever wanted to hear.

“Please, please?” Harry begged, tears making their way over his lips and tainting everything he said with drunken desperation. “I can’t. . . I can’t sleep. I can’t. I just want to hold you.”

And Harry really was crying then. Biting his lip so hard he was sure it was going to cut through and bleed soon, as he strained to keep his sobs soft. He pulled the shirt up and over the bridge of his nose - surrounded in Louis’ fading citrus scent as he listened to Louis breathe and every inhale was Harry’s heart filling and every exhale was it falling apart.

“I can’t, you know I can’t.” Which meant stop calling. But Harry couldn’t. He wouldn’t let go.

 _You can_ , Harry thought, _you just have to want to_. He couldn’t say the words again. Couldn’t plead like he did the first time because it didn’t work then and it wouldn’t work now. Because now the lines had been drawn and the only time Harry could even bear to speak to Louis was with more alcohol in his veins than blood. His mouth opened and closed on things that had been said, that he’d say until he was hoarse if it made any difference but it wouldn’t. Then Louis sighed again and there was something like a soft _sorry_. Then there was silence and he was gone, leaving Harry to stain all that he had left left of Louis with salt and bitterness of a love gone wrong.

: : :

Another night. Another mess of emotions, this time exacerbated by time spent at the pool. Harry was a little burnt -- not enough to be painful but enough to be uncomfortable all the same. He’d been lying on his stomach for the past few hours and pretending he didn’t know where _they_ were. He couldn’t block _her_ voice in the hall though when he heard it. All high pitched and feminine and her _laugh_. She laughed and it was pretty and he hated it. Then he hated himself for hating her - for no reason other than she had a nice laugh? If people only knew how ridiculous he could be. Always was when it came to her. And then it was _him_ and they giggled and there were soft words and they must have been right outside the door. Harry was in Niall’s room because Niall had the good after sun cream stuff so Louis wouldn’t have known.

He wouldn’t know that the doors were thin here. He wouldn’t have known that Harry could hear _her_ whisper and whimper and break Louis name in two and then moan. Harry pulled the pillow over his head and his arm itched from skin healing but now it almost burned and it made it all the worse. They giggled again and finally moved off as Harry got up, fumbling with Niall’s suitcase, knowing that the little bastard had whiskey hidden in there somewhere. When he found it his hands were shaking and Harry didn’t know if it was with anger or hurt or jealousy. Or maybe it was just because he hadn’t eaten since sharing a plate of waffles with Niall in the morning and it was near eleven at night now.

Before he could get the lid off, the tension in his stomach eased. It nearly dissipated completely the second he had the lip of the bottle to his mouth and the familiar burn of liquid flushed away all the words he wanted to yell at her, at them. At Louis. At himself.

He chugged it down, really threw it back until he felt the sweet liquid spilling out the sides of his mouth. He didn’t care. Just needed to block it all and this was the only way he knew how - the only way that had worked so far. The door opened as he was wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and it was Louis.

He was holding out Niall’s card like an excuse and Harry didn’t even want to know _why_ Louis would need to come in here. He would act completely ignorant of the large box of condoms that had mainly gone unused which he remembered seeing in his hunt for booze only seconds ago. Louis was just standing there in those stupid cut off jean things and his horrifically smelly boat shoes and his stupid, stupid zebra striped shirt and his lips - his lips were puffy and red and Harry _knew_ what they felt like when they looked like that. Knew how to make them look that way and he had Louis’ back against the wall before he knew he’d even decided to move. Biting and smashing their lips together almost, so he could replace everything _she_ had done.

He pressed _mine, mine, first he was mine,_ into Louis’s flesh and tasted tears and blood and then there was nothing because Louis had turned his head. His hands were tight on Harry’s hips - it would bruise but he coudln’t bring himself to care because it was all he could do to _breathe_ and stare at the wall beside Louis head.

Louis fingers loosened after a moment, and Harry could feel Louis pulling back even though he hadn’t moved at all.

“I can’t, Lou,” _I can’t give you up_ , he said, hoping, knowing that Louis would understand because they’d always had that. Before anything else, they had an ability to understand beyond words and looks and touches could tell. Louis nodded and tilted his face to the side, just slightly into Harry’s neck and he _breathed_ and it was all Harry could do not to wrap his arms around Louis and refuse to let go.

But Louis still moved and Louis still left and he went back to her and Harry went back to the bottle he’d have to arrange with Sandy or Dan to replace for Niall later.

: : :

It was only because Harry knew Louis’ number by touch memory that he managed to make the call. It was a miracle that Louis answered and it was sheer dumb luck that Harry could form words.

“Missed your taste in my mouth.”

He missed Louis reply if there was one, missed the sharp intake of breath on the end of the line. Missed Louis asking, “Who was it?”. Missed her answering for him to just go back to sleep, it’ll be fine in the morning.

: : :

It wasn’t fine.

But it was.

Because _she_ flew out - apologised to all and didn’t once meet Harry’s eye when making her goodbyes. It didn’t matter anyway, he didn’t even know what colour hers were.

He’d never bothered to look.

They had interviews lined up and songs to be sung so the atmosphere didn’t stay down for long. Well, Harry didn’t have to act like he was at a loss, only had to hide his smile for a few hours then his true feelings rose to the surface, like those barrels did in Jaws. And Louis was the same. Acted the same - well, the same old same old that Harry had _missed_. The same old same old that flirted too easily, touched too tenderly, snapped at ridiculous questions or inane answers that one of the boys may give. The same old Louis who ignored the ‘seating locations’ for their interviews - sticking to Harry like glue. The same Louis that couldn’t help but prod and poke and smile as everything but Harry and Louis and the stupid head-over-heels that Harry thought they were came back glaring bright and shiny to the forefront.

Niall couldn’t stop staring at them and Liam was clearing his throat, and Zayn had to cover it all by touching up Louis more than usual. Then they finished off with an acoustic version of one of the songs they mostly enjoyed doing - anything was better than What Makes You Beautiful at this point - and back in the car to the hotel. Louis had one leg over Harry’s knee and his smile was so bright, so full of teeth and happiness that Harry couldn’t help but stare. How could Louis look like this and think what he was doing with _her_ was enough? How could he touch Harry and whisper Harry’s name like it was an affirmation and still think . . .

But now wasn’t the time for thoughts.

It _really_ wasn’t time for anything at all when they got to their floor. They were leaving in the morning. The tour had to carry on and they had a plane to catch and then it was the bus again. But before that, before they had even moved two steps into Harry’s room Louis had him pinned against the door. Harry managed to lick his lips once before Louis had his fly down, hand inside tugging Harry’s cock out through the small space. Harry’s tongue touched the roof of his mouth, about to form the start of Lou’s name when he couldn't because a groan formed instead. Louis was sucking him down and down and Harry couldn’t concentrate on anything but how _good_ it felt. It took too short a time for him to come, he barely even got one hand on the back of Louis’ head before Louis’ cheeks hollowed - so perfectly setting off his cheek bones as he drew Harry’s orgasm right out of him.

Then Louis stood and kissed Harry with a smirk and Harry was glad that long ago he found he didn’t care one way or the other about the taste of his own come. He just cared that it was Louis’ tongue/fingers/rim he was licking it from.

: : :

They gave each other not so sneaky hand jobs on the flight to Dallas.

They didn’t talk about anything. Barely say a word.

Niall’s stare said enough. Liam’s frown articulated everything and Zayn’s sighs made up the rest of what Harry was pushing to the back of his mind. How long until _she_ came back? How long until Louis pushed Harry so far that he did something stupid, reckless?

Harry wondered if there were any good tattoo artists in the next town.

: : :

_Give me love like never before,_  
'cause lately I've been craving more,  
And it's been a while but I still feel the same,  
Maybe I should let you go 

: : :


End file.
